


The  Kiln

by ilandalandan



Category: ENHYPEN (Band), I-LAND (Korea TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Angst, Blood Play, Corruption, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drama, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extortion, Family, Friendship, Gang Violence, Human Trafficking, Implied Romance, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pining, Psychological Torture, Slavery, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Torture, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26300956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilandalandan/pseuds/ilandalandan
Summary: Sunghoon’s life is ordinary: he goes to a nearby university, works a handful of part time jobs, and enjoys pottery. Overall, his life is simple—that is, until it isn’t. With a deceased father and a debt that needs repaying, he ends up in the hands of ageondalleader’s grandson.Jay’s life, on the other hand, is boring: he attends meetings and parties, tortures people, and gambles to name a few of his repetitive activities. He’s on his way to the top, the successor of his family’s crime empire, but it’s all the same to him—that is, until he wins Sunghoon in a card game. With blood in his hands and a reputation to uphold, is it possible for people like him to change when they meet the right person?
Relationships: Lee Heeseung/Kim Sunoo, Park Jongseong | Jay/Kim Sunoo, Park Jongseong | Jay/Park Sunghoon, Park Jongseong | Jay/Yang Jungwon, Park Sunghoon/Shim Jaeyoon | Jake
Comments: 83
Kudos: 162





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Please take note of the tags. Enjoy this work of fiction. Feedback is appreciated. :)  
>  **

Wednesday is the busiest day of Park Sunghoon’s week. 

Despite initial attempts to organize a balanced schedule that gives him enough leeway to switch from one activity to the next, Sunghoon’s education and part time jobs have managed to take over this specific day and rather badly too, seeing as he ends up spending what little free time he has running around to get to one place and then another, just to make sure he isn’t late for anything. 

Case in point: 

**_Newspaper delivery job:_ ** _6 am to 7 am_  
 **_Ceramics Major classes:_ ** _7:30 am to 2 pm_  
 **_Bookstore clerk job:_ ** _2:30 pm to 6:30 pm_  
 **_Barista job:_ ** _7 pm to 1 am_

The funny thing is, it hadn’t been like this in the beginning. He’d started out with just one part time job alongside a relatively laid back school schedule, which made Sunghoon luckier than most during that period and before he began taking on more responsibilities. 

But with him approaching his senior year _and_ the fact that college tuitions do nothing but increase year after year, picking up other part time jobs had slowly become a necessity. His appa worked hard enough for the both of them as it is, and Sunghoon wanted to help out as best he could. 

That being said and with the way things are currently, there are times that the items in his schedule nearly overlap. Right now for example: it’s already seventeen past 2 pm but his final class for the day, _Ceramics and Culture 1,_ still hasn’t wrapped up. It takes about fifteen minutes to leisure bike all the way to the bookstore from the Arts building he’s in, which means he has less than that amount of time left to get there. 

He’s going to be _so_ late. _Annyeong, attendance bonus, annyeong!_

Leg bouncing up and down in nerves, Sunghoon scoots forward until he’s sitting at the edge of his seat, one hand clutching the strap of his backpack while the other hand’s fingers drum against his knee. Eyes riveted on the clock just right above his professor’s head, he barely suppresses a wince. 

_Time check: 2:18 pm._

“Come on, _come on,”_ he mutters, no longer listening to whatever his professor’s saying. Instead, he’s thinking about the perfect attendance bonus that the bookshop owner awards her part timers with for never being absent and arriving on time, and the fact that he’s never missed it. It’s not much in terms of amount, but every cent counts. After all, it still is additional money on top of Sunghoon’s weekly pay.

Waiting for the magic words of dismissal, once the go ahead finally leaves his professor’s lips after two more minutes of whatever-Sunghoon-doesn’t-care, he practically flies out of his seat and towards the doorway, the first to leave the room to the confused, startled gazes of everyone else in class. 

“Sunghoon-ah! _Wait!”_

He barely acknowledges his sort-of friend Lee Heeseung, throwing a careless hand up in a wave of goodbye. Sunghoon doesn’t have time to waste, not when Heeseung likes to chitchat about his volunteer work for an animal shelter with the vigor of a motivational speaker, so he shouts back: 

“Please just text me hyung, I need to go!”

He zooms down the hall and to the east side stairs, zigzagging his way through the crowd, shouting apologies left and right. He can’t even be physically polite, not when he has—he glances at his watch—only eight minutes left. 

“Excuse me, pardon me, coming through, thank you, sorry!”

He makes it to his bike with six minutes left to spare, takes about thirty seconds to fumble with the lock and chain that keeps his ride from being stolen, and has five or so minutes to make it to the bookshop. To anyone watching, Sunghoon almost appears to be competing: weaving through other bikers with the speed of a pro cycler and drifting around corners in his manic rush. 

By the time the cheerful yellow of _Bookworm Bookshop’s_ facade comes into view, he has less than thirty seconds remaining—and not even bothering to park his bicycle properly by letting it fall on the side of the road in front of the shop, he rushes inside to a gulpful of cold, recycled air. The door closes behind him just as his watch beeps to signal two-thirty pm. 

_Made it._

“Woah, are you ok?”

Panting and laughing at the same time isn’t good for Sunghoon’s lungs, not after what he just went through. Coughing violently, he looks up to find his best friend hovering near the counter, looking concerned. Mrs. Kim, the owner, is there too. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Sunghoon manages to say in between coughing fits, wiping his sweat-beaded forehead with the back of his hand as he straightens. It takes some effort. “Good afternoon Mrs. Kim, hey Jake. Didn’t want to be late. I wasn’t right?”

Mrs. Kim reminds Sunghoon of a grandmother he’s never met, or at least how he hopes his halmeoni would’ve been. Wrinkly face smoothing out with an amused smile, she shakes her head at him as if she’s just heard the silliest thing in the world, gesturing at the clock on the wall behind her. 

“Late? You’re ten minutes early Sunghoon dear!”

Sunghoon narrows his eyes, confused, but looking up at the clock shows Mrs. Kim is right. He _is_ ten minutes early.

_Uh, what?_

“An early bird!” Jake bounds toward him like an overjoyed puppy, cradling several samgak kimbap in his arms as if they’re his precious babies. “You deserve a snack! I bought you and Mrs. Kim these. Here, enjoy and bon appetit!”

There’s something weird about how Jake is acting—he’s fakely cheerful is one, and second, he’s speaking too loudly. If possible, Sunghoon feels his eyes narrow even more. _Hm._ Once Jake is closer to him, he leans forward and grabs a tuna mayo kimbap for himself because those are the best, hissing at his friend in a low voice. 

“What’s going on? _What did you do?”_

Jake’s expression instantly turns sheepish—he can never lie to Sunghoon—and he quickly looks behind him, checking something or so it appears, before facing him again to whisper back.

“Well… when you didn’t arrive by 2:15, I knew C&C didn’t end on time again, and since I didn’t want you to lose your bonus...” Sunghoon watches Jake’s face turn a rosy pink as he continues. “I adjusted Mrs. Kim’s clock backwards to help you out?”

Sunghoon’s blood pressure spikes. 

_“What?!”_

The hiss that comes out of Sunghoon's mouth is in a level of its own, sending spit in the air that makes Jake recoil in half amusement, half terror. Sunghoon glances away for a second to make sure Mrs. Kim isn’t within hearing distance before glaring down at Jake. If looks could kill… 

“What did you do that for?! _That’s not fair!_ Put it back! Now.”

Jake steps away at that, shaking his head furiously and dropping some of the wrapped samgak kimbap on the carpeted floor. They both ignore the deformation of their kimbap triangles. 

“No way! _You_ put it back!” Jake is sort of laughing but also cowering under Sunghooon’s accusatory glare. “I did you a favor man— _you’re welcome!”_

Just then, Mrs. Kim appears from behind a row of shelves, the ones near the front windows. 

“Sunghoon-ah, your bike’s blocking the sidewalk. Go park it properly.”

Schooling his face to reflect obedience and pleasantness, Sunghoon bows his head slightly and addresses Mrs. Kim with a smile in his voice. His aura shines with good intentions—so very unlike his kimbap-bringing cheater of a best friend.

“Yes Mrs. Kim, right away. Sorry about that.” 

Turning to Jake who has picked up the samgak kimbap and currently trying to reshape them back to perfect triangles, Sunghoon lifts a hand and pokes his friend’s forehead with a finger just before he goes to do as he’s told. 

“Put it back, or I swear…” 

He leaves the threat hanging in the air, but Jake looks chastised enough that he doesn’t need to say anything else. Sunghoon watches him turn around to head to the cashier, probably wondering how to change Mrs. Kim’s clock back to the correct time with the old lady _right there._

 _His problem, not mine._ Sunghoon nods secretly to himself in agreement, sniffs in indignance for good measure, and leaves his best friend to it. He then heads back outside to park his bike at the nearby rack, just another Wednesday afternoon in one of his part time jobs with Shim Jake causing trouble, as usual. 

Sometimes, Sunghoon wonders if he lives in a korean drama.

“Why are you here anyway?” 

Sunghoon asks the question for what feels like the millionth time. They both know why Jake’s here, but there must be a code somewhere dictating that bros should never be sentimental: if Sunghoon pretends to be oblivious of the fact that Jake buys him food to snack on since he doesn’t have enough time to do it himself every Wednesdays, Jake returns the sentiment by feigning innocence so as not to break this non-existent code. 

“I was just passing by,” Jake answers with a shrug, smile bright. His eyes have curved that happy way they do, and it makes Sunghoon smile. “You know.”

Sunghoon unwraps his tuna mayo samgak kimbap and hides said smile behind his triangle rice, not looking Jake’s way. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, chest warm. “I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND DEATH. Please take the tags seriously. Also, I did my research before writing this story to make it as realistic as possible, but at the end of the day, it's still just fiction. Please enjoy. Thank you for being here! **

In Park Jay’s case, Wednesday is the longest day of the week. 

This isn’t his fault. It simply is the way of things considering who he is and what family he belongs to, the Parks that represent the infamous Wolgyesu Pa. As the sole heir who will one day run things as soon as his halmeonim steps down or gets killed—whichever comes first—Jay has been part of important meetings related to the family business for the majority of his life. 

Today is no different. 

Seated at the head of the table in the basement level of _Eden,_ a room salon(1) disguised as a high end nightclub, Jay pretends not to listen as the haengdong-daejang(2) of today’s meeting report to him one by one. Gaze focused on a new round of Piano Tiles 2, he even has his feet propped up on the conference table, ankles crossed, for good measure. He wants these old wrinkly men to think they’re getting away with the subpar results they’re proudly spewing out when in reality, Namdong-gu is actually lagging behind. Every other district has been exceeding targets so much more than they have. 

To say his halmeonim is furious with Namdong-gu is an understatement at this point. 

“That is everything, hyungnim.”

Jay ignores the room as a whole, absorbed in his game, until he feels a gentle tap on his shoulder. He tilts his head in acknowledgement but doesn’t take his eyes off his mobile phone’s screen, only managing an inquiring hum. He’s still “busy” after all, a spoiled brat who’s only going to take over because his grandmother has no one else to pass her crime empire to. _Yeah right._

“Hm?”

Kei, his bodyguard and all-around man, doesn’t hover over his shoulder for long. He straightens up instead, speaking in a gentle and moderated voice, calm and collected like always. Jay has never seen the older boy laugh, not even lose his temper. He just _is:_ a willing mold formed by Wolgyesu Pa to their liking, a robot who does all that he asks without judgement or question. No wonder his halmeonim chose him to watch over her only successor. 

The business relationship works. 

“Everyone is finished with their reports, hyungnim. It appears that the Incheon, as a whole, has exceeded the month’s target by five percent.” 

This time Jay does look up, first at Kei and then the men around the conference table. He smiles and makes an attempt to seem respectable—puts his feet down and all as he places his phone on the tabletop—and then claps his hands together. In the ensuing silence, with the nightclub bass a faraway dream and barely a tremor on the walls, the noise it makes is loud. He revels in the flinches it elicits, enjoys how uncomfortable these older men are around him when he’s half their age. That, and they have to call him _hyungnim_ , as do Kei who’s significantly older. Jay can’t quite describe the euphoria he feels, having such control. It’s beyond otherworldly, like a religious experience. He can do anything to anyone and get away with it.

That’s how powerful he is. 

“That’s great! It’s my turn. I’ve prepared a presentation for today’s meeting in celebration of Incheon’s overall performance: collection targets are phenomenal, and halmeonim is happy. We all know that’s the main thing—to keep her happy! No one wants to make halmeonim mad!”

Jay laughs at that final bit and so do the men, the fools lulled into a false sense of normalcy. He can see it in their eyes, their expressions: that they think they’re safe. All these men are under the impression that they can get away with their shit. Well, not on Jay’s watch. If he’s going to take over the business someday, he wants these old timers to know that he’s not going to tolerate mediocrity. 

“Kei, if you please.”

Jay stands up after a quick hand gesture to Kei, positioning himself on the back of the room so that he can see the projector screen which, merely seconds ago, had been behind him. Kei bows and takes the remote; he already knows how this is going to go down. The room darkens with a press of a button and, a few selected options later, a video begins to play. 

Jay’s smile twists into something dark. 

The first photo on the video is of a cute little girl, barely seven years old. Her cheeks are chubby in the way kids’ cheeks are that age, and she’s smiling widely as she waves goodbye to her seonsaengnim, one hand raised in farewell while the other holds onto a maid’s hand. 

At the sight of her, one of the men on the table, Ru Songmin, goes _very_ still. 

“Wh—what’s the meaning of this?”

The question comes out trembling, pitched high and on the brink of panic. And why wouldn’t Ru Songmin panic? That’s a candid photograph of his daughter right there. Jay just chuckles as he shushes him. 

“Sssh, relax. Just watch until the end, no need to worry.”

But there’s a great need for it as the video continues, soundless, showing photo after photo of loved ones going about their daily lives, all oblivious to the fact that they’re getting their pictures taken. These people have one thing in common: they’re all special to the men in this room, children and parents, a spouse, siblings, even a dog. 

Another signal Kei’s way, and the video is paused.

Jay begins walking, tracing a route around the conference table, not looking at the men as he speaks. 

“I don’t know about you, but I said what I said: we’re celebrating the fact that Incheon has exceeded collection targets overall. You understand right?”

Another man leans forward, Nan Jaewook, his fists banging against the glass surface of the table in anger. His face is red with fury, but he manages to make his voice pleading. _Almost,_ but Jay still doesn’t appreciate his attitude. He makes eye contact with Kei—a quick, barely there one—and Kei moves his head the tiniest bit in acknowledgement. He knows what needs to be done to men like Nan.

“But hyungnim, if we’ve exceeded—”

“Ah ah ah, hang on there Nan,” Jay interrupts, abruptly stopping from his pacing and raising a finger the elder’s way. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Incheon exceeded targets _overall._ Let me repeat myself: _overall._ Do you know what that means?”

Realization is dawning upon the faces of every haengdong-daejang: a mix of despair and terror, and a sort of resignation. Jay returns to the back of the room, still smiling.

_You’re not getting away with this, fuckers._

“That means everyone else performed well. Everyone else _except Namdong-gu.”_

His words are met with silence. The video starts playing again and shows two bar graphs: it’s very straightforward and points out a couple of things—that first, one of them in Namdong-gu missed the target by 37%, and second, that other districts had impressive collection rates which resulted in Incheon collectively outperforming other areas, even Seoul. 

_That’s no thanks to these men and a pat on the back for the rest._

“Now,” Jay continues, going back to his spot at the head of the table but remaining on his feet. He looms over his subordinates, but it’s not a physical thing: they all know who has the upper hand in this situation and the men’s fear, it becomes static in the air. Beneath their rage is fear. Jay places his palms on the tabletop and leans forward as he continues. “I must say that some of you made the target. Just barely. Good enough for me, _for now._ But you see…”

Jay lifts a hand and makes a wild gesture using his entire arm, a conductor urging the orchestra to reach a horrifying crescendo. He smiles with his teeth, gaze passing over every man’s face until he reaches the one who’s going to be made an example tonight. He has his eyes averted and he’s shaking. God he’s shaking and all Jay wants to do is laugh. 

“One of you dragged the entire district down. One of you disappointed my halmeonim so badly that we had to resort to this. I had to make her see sense, you know? I told her, _‘Halmeonim, these men have worked for us for so long. Let me handle it. No one has to die in that meeting.’_ And that’s why I’m here. You’re lucky it’s me. If it was my grandmother, everyone you love would be fish food on the ocean floor.” 

Nan reacts again, a soft and helpless sound of angry desperation, barely able to hold his emotions at bay. It makes Jay sigh. This man is just asking for it, doesn’t even know he’s supposed to be safe—but maybe two examples are in order tonight. 

“You’re pissing me off, Nan.” Jay’s smile disappears. “Kei.”

Nan’s face pales and he’s on his feet at once, probably to throw himself on the floor to beg, but Kei is fast: he has both his phone and his gun out in a second, not necessarily in that order, and Nan freezes. There are actual tears in his eyes as he looks from Kei to Jay with wide, imploring eyes. 

_It’s the best day of Jay’s life._

“Please don’t move Nan-ssi,” Kei says, voice level like he’s giving someone directions or talking about the weather. “I have clear instructions not to hurt anyone in this meeting unless I have no other choice. Please go back to your seat.”

Nan doesn’t go back as instructed, hands coming together in plea, and Jay rolls his eyes. Fucker doesn’t learn at all… he looks at Kei and shrugs. Let experience be the best teacher here. 

“Not my wife, please! Take me, _take me and—”_

Kei is still on the phone, but he moves. It’s not anything grand, just a slight lowering of his arm. And then he fires: Nan screams, crumples to the floor with his hands on his right knee where blood is spewing out, bright red against the cream carpeting on the floor. 

Jay waves at part of his personal security team, stationed at the back, and signals Nan’s way. 

“Get him out of here. He’s disturbing this meeting.”

A trail of blood follows Nan as he is dragged away, without consideration or care, out of the room, still screaming. It takes long enough for him to be removed that he hears Kei give the instruction, and his screaming escalates. 

“Kill Mrs. Nan.” 

“Ok. Where were we?”

Jay’s smile is back and pleasant on his face as he returns his gaze to the rest of the men who look like they’re all reeling from what just happened. _The looks on their faces!_ Jay grins.

“Ah yes! The reason why we’re all here with my Powerpoint-like video presentation. Before I tell you who the special person is, let’s have a bit of education: Wolgyesu Pa wasn’t built in a day. Halmeonim always says that. Our crest and name represents triumph, overcoming difficulties—the people before us worked their assess off to be here. To get us where we are now.”

Jay starts pacing again, manic this time, round and round the room, reciting his lines like he memorized them from a book. 

“But where’s Namdong-gu in that victory now?”

He stops just right behind the seat of one Yu Younghwan: the one to be blamed for Nan’s shattered knee and dead wife. Leaning forward, he whispers right beside Yu’s ear.

“Why isn’t everyone doing their part to keep us where we are, Yu?” 

There’s a few seconds of silence and then:

“Please. _Please!”_

Jay laughs this time at the obvious anguish in Yu’s voice, stepping back as the other man starts weeping. _An old man, crying like a baby!_ His day keeps getting better. 

“Kei?”

The projector shifts from Jay’s video to a live feed. Again, Kei presses his phone against an ear. His words get drowned out by Yu’s crying, but it’s obvious what the instructions are. The camera on the feed moves, shows an even older man and woman kneeling side-by-side, their hands tied behind them. There’s a male teenager on the man’s left, and then a plump woman right beside. 

The family resemblance with Yu, except for the second woman, is striking. 

“This is a warning.”

Jay turns to the screen himself for today’s show, getting a deep sense of satisfaction over the power this moment is giving him. What happens now is his call. He can ruin Yu’s life, any of these men’s lives, or he can give them another chance. He has complete control over their emotional and mental wellbeing right now, _owns these men through and through:_ body, mind, and soul. 

“A warning not to disappoint Wolgyesu Pa.”

And it begins but it’s not quick, the way his men slit the throats of Yu’s family members one by one. It’s a slow and delicate process; killing a pig is kinder than this. They start with the old man, grasps him by the back of the head, fingers yanking at pepper gray hair, before running the blade on the soft flesh of a gurgling throat. Yu’s father doesn’t even have the time to scream: his mouth is already filling with blood, _so much blood._

Yu breaks down, falling on the floor, grasping at the carpet, a mess of sobs and empty pleas. 

Jay doesn’t stay to watch the son and wife die, fixing the sleeves of his coat and then picking his cellphone up from the table. Kei is quick to assume his position behind him: always the protector, the real hyung here if it had been a different world. 

“Your target this month has been increased by 20%.” Jay is already walking towards the exit, sidestepping Yu and barely giving anyone else in the room a glance. “Do what you have to do.”

Those are his final words as he steps out of the conference room and into the hallway, the door closing behind him and Kei with a barely audible click. The physical barrier does little to mute Yu’s anguished cries, hauntingly loud, and once more, it makes Jay smile. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he tells Kei. They take the elevator one floor up and arrives on the first floor. The noise is loud here, and they step out of the lift to join the throng of _Eden_ club goers, ignoring the bass that dictates the pulse and beat of every heart in this room. “Did Sunoo confirm?”

They reach the exit where a sedan is waiting. Kei puts on a little burst of speed, opens the door for Jay as he answers, dark coat flapping against the night breeze. He nods his head. 

“Yes hyungnim, he did. Shall I tell him we’re on our way?”

Jay climbs in and settles on his seat, stretching, already opening Piano Tiles 2 on his phone again. 

“Yeah. Call Jungwon too—I want to see them both.”

Kei bends himself in half, bowing low. _A willing mold formed by Wolgyesu Pa to their liking._ That’s him, the trusty all-around bodyguard and whatever else Jay wants him to be. 

“Right away hyungnim.” 

Kei takes the driver’s seat as the valet hands him the car keys, and not a minute later, they’re joining the freeway where they act as if no blood has been spilled. As if no one was killed. 

But that’s just the way it is, _just another Wednesday._

“Good job today Kei.”

Kei doesn’t smile at the praise, and Jay wonders, not for the first time, if he even knows how.

“Thank you, hyungnim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(1) **Room salon.** Hidden and illegal places where men can drink with beautiful women then bring them to a hotel/motel-style room right after for sex. _
> 
> _(2) **Haengdong-daejang. 행동대장.** Captain. Literally means _ "conduct leaders." _Reports to a_ geondal (건달) _or_ _organized crime elite, which in this case is the Park family of the Wolgyesu Pa._
> 
> **Note:** The use of _hyungnim_ here is deliberate and has nothing to do with age. In the gang's heirarchy, the _geondal_ or boss is addressed this way to show respect.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subscriptions! I hope you're enjoying this story! Feedback is also appreciated if you have the time. Thanks for being here!**

Yu is a changed man. 

It’s not for the best. After what he’s gone through, something inside him is no longer the same. It’s to be expected, of course. Yu even has an inkling that making a show out of his loved ones’ murders had been done on purpose to reform him into the ruthless man that he now wants to become. And obviously, Wolgyesu Pa knows what it’s doing because what do you know? 

Their plan worked. 

As for Yu, he just wants to _hurt someone_. Wants to connect his fist with someone else’s flesh and bones and give away this encompassing pain that radiates from the depths of his soul to make it go away. He wonders if it will ever go away. Someday maybe? But until then, he won’t be satisfied until every person who has put him in this situation gets a taste of the despair running through his veins.

His borrowers need to pay, too. 

He and his men visit every active loanee that Yu has in his books. All of them have to be made aware that the man they’d transacted with in the past is not the same man who’s in charge now. He’ll no longer be the forgiving person they’re used to, not anymore, and starting today, he wants everyone to know that the money they owe him will need to be paid on an on-demand basis. 

That’s how the new system is going to work. 

Surprisingly and seventeen borrowers in, it’s going well. So well, in fact, that Yu wants to fall on his knees and weep. This is what he should’ve done from the beginning. If only he’d been the merciless man Wolgyesu Pa had expected him to be right from the start, his family would still be here. The lesson has been learned in the most difficult way, and it’s time for Yu to teach the rest of the world the same: that life is cruel, always has been and always will be. 

They need to know this or else run the risk of ending up like him. 

“Who’s next?”

“Another Park, sir.”

He’s not sure how many Parks have begged him to give them time—they’ll have the money eventually, they just need more time—but that’s what all of these people don’t understand. _There is no time!_ Everyone thinks they have precious seconds to spare until they reach that final tick of the clock with _nothing_ in their grasp. No more of that. 

Yu won’t allow it. 

“Does he have a co-borrower?”

“No sir.”

Yu doesn’t look away from his position by the window on the backseat of his car, watching the scenery pass by on their way to the next loanee. He knows these streets by heart and yet, after watching his parents, wife, and son get killed the way they had, all of these familiar things suddenly seem foreign and strange. But that’s good. 

In this way, it’s easier for him to detach.

“He either gets a co-borrower or he pays half of what he owes today,” Yu tells his men, pushing away the stream of cash that falls from the overstuffed bag beside him onto his lap. It scatters like dead leaves on the car floor. “No exceptions.”

“Yes sir.”

Their next stop: the home of a single father named Park Shiwoo.

* * *

**_The night before…_ **  
Despite knowing _some_ things like why Jake really drops by the bookstore every Wednesday, there are also other things that Sunghoon has no idea about. Like so:

“Sunghoonie!” 

With only thirty minutes to spare from _Bookworm Bookshop_ to the university café, Sunghoon nearly misses the familiar car parked in front of the store. If not for that equally familiar voice that calls out to him, he would’ve been on his bike and pedaling as fast as he can back near the university grounds for his coffee shop shift. Halting in his tracks, Sunghoon narrows his eyes when he realizes who it is. 

“Jake? What’re you doing here again?”

“I’m here to pick you up. Come on, hop in—I already told your manager that we have an emergency!”

A shot of ice replaces the blood in Sunghoon’s chest at the word _emergency,_ and only then does he see the expression on Jake’s face: worry and slight alarm. But over what?

“What happened? Is it—”

“Just— _come on!_ The sooner we get there, the sooner we’ll know what happened!”

Sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice. Even though he’d been cut off from saying what he was supposed to and despite the vague and unclear reply from Jake, whoever’s involved in this emergency is pretty obvious. After all, there’s only one other person in Sunghoon’s life that he values highly aside from his best friend. 

His appa. 

Jake is already driving as fast as he can within the speed limit after Sunghoon gets in, fumbling with his seatbelt and mobile phone at the same time. 

“What happened? Why didn’t I receive a call?” When Jake doesn’t answer, Sunghoon loses it a little, voice desperate. _“Jake!”_

Jake’s holding onto the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles have turned white, jumping at Sunghoon’s shout before he’s shouting back. He sounds just as distressed, just as panicked—he swerves out of the lane they’re in to overtake two cars and a truck, the action knocking both of them sideways with the suddenness of it. 

_“I don’t know!_ I’m not sure why they called me, not you, I don’t know!”

Sunghoon manages to unlock his phone by entering the code with trembling fingers. _Nothing._ No messages, not even a single missed call. Why had no one contacted him? What could have happened? And more importantly, is his appa ok? He hopes so. Sunghoon has no idea what he’ll do with himself if he loses the only parent he has left. 

“It’s going to be ok,” Jake says, one hand reaching across the stick to grab Sunghoon’s hand. Sunghoon looks up and they make eye contact for a second. “It’s going to be ok, Sunghoonie.”

Sunghoon squeezes Jake’s hand in his, letting his best friend’s words sink into his very bones, and they don’t let go of each for a long time as his best friend navigates the roads in a manic trance, driving just under the speed limit to make the most of what time they have. By the time they get to the Park residence, it’s a quarter to eight, and Sunghoon doesn’t even bother to wait for the car to stop completely, opening the passenger door just as they’re slowing down and jumping off. 

“Sunghoon! What the—”

Jake’s admonishing words over his risky actions are meaningless during this breathless moment of opening the gate and storming into the property to look for his dad. It’s quiet with all lights inside the house turned off, and he barges in with a purpose, slapping a palm on the main switch to have some illumination and visibility. 

“Appa!” Sunghoon calls out, his voice cracking in desperation as he goes from one room to the next, to find no one each time. _“Appa!”_

There’s only one place left to look with Sunghoon having checked every room in the house, and that’s the garage. Throwing the door open and he’s surprised by a loud and distinct pop, followed by a shower of ribbons and confetti. 

_Ribbons and… confetti?_

“SURPRISE!”

Sunghoon feels like his soul just left his body with how startled he is, jumping back and hitting his shoulder on the doorframe that leads into and out of the garage from the house. His dad’s right there, and so is Jake. 

Nothing’s wrong. Nothing—

His appa and Jake make a show of moving aside in opposite directions to reveal something behind them. It’s a huge thing with maroon lining, the surface a gleaming silver, and it takes a while for Sunghoon to realize what it is. 

“Well?” His appa is smiling so widely that his eyes are nothing but half moons, and Sunghoon chokes on his saliva when he notices the thing even has a bow. “Say something!”

“It’s a kiln,” he whispers, voice reverent, and Jake laughs, bounding over and pulling him forward and closer to the machinery using both hands. “A kiln.”

 _“Your_ kiln,” Jake declares, not letting go and squeezing his hands. “It’s that kiln you’ve always wanted, Sunghoonie!”

Indeed, it is—the one thing Sunghoon has always wished for that he can use in school and for his hobby. No more using the university’s kiln, shared by everybody, because now he has his own. He can create new pieces whenever he wants without following a schedule!

_“APPA!”_

Without letting go of one of Jake’s hands, Sunghoon throws his other one outward to pull his dad into an embrace, jumping up and down like a kid at Christmas as he laughs and near-cries with joy. Jake and his appa bounce with him, laughing too, the three of them a tangle of clumsy arms and overlapping shouts. 

“My own kiln! _Thank you!”_

“No more waiting for your turn on campus!”

 _“Yes!_ We have to name it!”

That last one makes both Parks pause at the same time, pulling away from the chaotic embrace to stare at Jake. 

“Name it?” Sunghoon’s appa asks, glancing at his son who looks as confused as he is. “Why?”

“It’s cute,” Jake says with a shrug, placing a hand over Sunghoon’s new kiln and caressing it like a beloved pet. “Special things have to be named! What will it be, Sunghoon?”

“Wait a minute…” Sunghoon realizes this is some kind of distraction, remembering how he’d been led here in the first place. _Emergency huh?_ He grabs the bow stuck on one corner of the kiln and uses it to slap not only Jake’s arm but also his dad’s. _“Both of you tricked me!_ Do you know how worried I was? Did you want to kill me with a heart attack?!”

“Ya, ya!” Jake has his arms raised to block his face, moving in front of Sunghoon’s appa to protect him from the light, painless hits as well. “How else could we have surprised you? It was for a good cause!”

“And if anyone’s supposed to have a heart attack,” his appa pitches in, peeking around Jake’s shoulder with a grin. “It’s me, not you! You’re too young for a heart attack!”

“I can’t believe both of you!”

“Heartbreak maybe,” Jake suggests, only to receive a slap from the ends of the ribbon. “Ya! Not the face! Anywhere else but the face!”

“Me too,” Sunghoon’s appa says, backing up and leading Jake so that they can evade Sunghoon. “Not my face!”

“Ha!” Sunghoon doesn’t relent, but it’s too much work, trying to hit them with the ribbon, so he just throws it their way with a huff, though the smile he feels on his cheeks ruins it. “Your face? I got my looks from eomma!”

“Excuse me!” Sunghoon watches his appa step around Jake, hands gesturing wildly. “That’s not true! Do you see this face? Jake-ah, what do you see?”

Jake winks and offers finger hearts. “The face of a handsome man!”

Sunghoon’s appa places his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest, turning back to Sunghoon with a triumphant smile. 

“Exactly! You wouldn’t have had that face if it weren’t for me!”

His back already turned, Sunghoon inspects the kiln he’s just been gifted with, running his fingers on every knob and corner with careful, delicate touches as he answers. 

“We both know I was molded in the likeness of eomma,” he says. “But you can take credit for how I turned out, appa. We went through the muck together with our shared experiences shaping us into who we are! We’ve gone through so much!”

“Oh here we go,” Jake laughs, watching father and son go through dramatics over their journey as a pair in their lonely life without Sunghoon’s eomma. With the hardships they went through after losing the heart of the Park household past them, Sunghoon and his appa often joke about how they’d come out of the entire ordeal as changed men. “Carry on though, I’m listening!”

“Scorched and burned by the fire of life,” his appa continues, looking at the distance as he slides next to Sunghoon with a wide gesture of his arm. “We emerged from its kiln reformed and beautiful!”

Sunghoon nods, staring at the far distance as he imitates the grand action of waving an arm outwards to encompass the space before them—or the lack of it actually since there’s nothing in the garage but a bunch of random stuff the Parks don’t want to throw out just in case they end up being useful in the future. 

“Indeed, beautiful!”

“Like clay, our joy and pain molded us!”

“And now we’re ready!”

Sunghoon’s appa finishes with a flourish. “Out of the heated kiln and into the world.”

Jake has already moved from his place and taken his phone out, recording father and son and their performance, silently laughing all the while.

“Ok, _CUT!_ That was great!”

Sunghoon’s appa breaks character immediately, moving towards Jake to look down at his phone. Sunghoon follows, grinning to himself and feeling so happy, he feels like his chest is about to burst. 

“Let me see. Did I look good?”

“Better than Sunghoon uncle,” Jake says, shooting Sunghoon a conniving wink. “You’re a star!”

“I knew I should’ve been on KBS!”

Sunghoon snorts at the video version of himself and his appa. “Skipping the local audience and going international straight away? Risky!”

“Worth the risk, uncle! Show me your best pose!”

Sunghoon’s appa is in a good mood, playing along as he immediately moves beside the innocent kiln sitting in the middle of the garage. He poses beside it, face turning serious in an instant. 

“Like this?”

Jake is close to howling. “Yes! Good one uncle! Another!”

“You look like one of those home TV shopping models!” Sunghoon is laughing again, but he stifles it enough to pretend he’s a voice over as his appa strikes one ridiculous pose after another. _“Korea Kiln: the korean’s kiln of choice! Call now and you get not one, not two—”_

“Stop,” Jake gasps, one hand clutching his stomach while the other has an unsteady hold on his still recording phone. “Oh my god, this family’s killing me!”

“You’ll die happy though,” Sunghoon points out, moving closer to his dad and throwing an arm around his shoulders. Mirth dying down, he smiles a little more sincerely, noticing just then how taller he’s become compared to his old man. “But on a serious note, thanks appa. For the kiln.”

His appa grins, raising a hand in front of his face in a very forced dismissive way. He looks embarrassed and flattered. 

“Of course! Anything for my favorite son!”

Sunghoon pouts. “I’m your only son!”

His appa shakes his head and points to his left. “I adopted Jake long ago. You’re not an only child.”

“Awww appa!” Jake beams. 

“Whatever,” Sunghoon mutters, rolling his eyes before turning to his kiln again. “Anyway, should I really name my kiln?”

Jake sidles up beside him, smile wide. “You should. Got any ideas?”

“Jumong!” His appa is already sweeping the confetti and ribbons from the party popper he’d used to surprise him, throwing his own suggestion in. 

“Too traditional,” Sunghoon mutters. Jake looks thoughtful for a moment, and then:

“Karen!”

He feels it when his brows furrow above his eyes. Sunghoon is confused. “Why Karen?”

Jake shrugs. “I don’t know. How about Brenda?”

His appa is still sweeping confetti away _and_ making suggestions. “Name it after your eomma.”

Sunghoon shudders. “No! Eomma’s going to haunt us both! I’ll name it after you, appa!”

His dad only looks up and grins. 

“Then Shiwoo it is! You can call it Shiwoo-yah when I’m not around!”

Sunghoon’s smile softens as he touches the sides of the kiln with a tender hand. He’s not sure where his appa got the money to buy one for him, but he’s not about to ask. He knows his dad very well—he won’t tell Sunghoon and chastise him for asking too many questions instead of just being thankful. 

“Shiwoo-yah,” he whispers, smiling gently. 

And because Sunghoon doesn’t know everything, he has no idea that this is one of the last times anyone will be saying the name Shiwoo aloud in relation to his father. Little does he know that his unsuspecting appa bought the kiln using money from a member of the Wolgyesu Pa, specifically a man named Younghwan.

Yu Younghwan. 

… Yu Younghwan who arrives at the Park residence late afternoon of the next day with two of his men, ready to collect money even though the original terms dictate that Park Shiwoo has already made a payment for his loan this month. 

“New terms,” Yu explains shortly when asked about his previous payment, taking a slow and lazy drag of his half-burnt cigarette. He holds the smoke in his lungs until he’s dizzy before blowing the noxious fumes out in a single breath. “Money’s on an on-demand basis moving forward. You know how it is.”

Park Shiwoo is a small man with a round face and cutesy features, but whereas he would’ve been an adorable looking man any other day, at the moment his expression has twisted into something ugly and pathetic. 

“No, I don’t know how it is,” Park says, looking helpless and unsure where he stands, outside the garage of his quaint little home. “How can the terms change without my consent? We both signed it! I only need to pay once a month, and I’ve made my payment!”

Yu makes a vague hand gesture with the hand that has the cigarette, shrugging his shoulders where he’s leaning against the gate. 

“I have collection targets to meet, Park,” he eventually says when the other man simply stares at him, waiting for an explanation. “I don’t meet that, and I’m useless to everyone else who needs to borrow money. So you give me my money back plus interest when I say so for the sake of the community. You don’t pay back, and I might end up doing something reckless. I don’t know, maybe something like this?”

Without batting an eyelash, all Yu has to do is look at one of his men who immediately jumps into action. He breaks the first thing within reach: one of the outdoor wall sconces adorning the gate. Park is quick to react—he steps forward with a shout, upset but also scared.

“Ya! What’re you doing?! You’re damaging my property!”

Yu pushes himself away from the gate and walks forward, further into Park’s house. He smiles but there’s no kindness in it, only teeth. 

“Because you don’t want to give me my money back, Park. I want another payment right now. In cash.”

Park throws his hands in the air in a helpless manner. “I don’t have it! I agreed to an installment because there’s only a fixed amount I can pay a month! I don’t have extra cash!”

Yu drops his cigarette on the ground and crushes it with the heel of his shoe. “Not my problem.”

“What do you mean—” Shiwoo sputters, sounding disbelieving and desperate, frightened and angry. “Isn’t there another way? I don’t have the money! _Please!”_

“There we are! _A solution!_ That’s what I want to hear.” Yu claps his hands together several times in imitation of applause before continuing. “Get a co-borrower right now as assurance that someone will pay on your behalf.”

Something crosses Shiwoo’s expression, but almost immediately, it hardens. 

“I don’t have anyone.”

“He has a son, sir. Currently in university. He borrowed the money for him.”

Yu smirks as his other subordinate makes the offhand comment, monotone as if he’s reporting something mundane. His gaze on Park doesn’t waver. 

“If he’s in university, then he’s old enough to work part time jobs. Make him your co-borrower.”

Park shakes his head frantically. “No! I don’t want him involved!”

But no one’s listening to him because with a nod of his head, Yu has already wordlessly ordered a search of Park’s home. He needs _anything_ they can get their hands on: objects of value or information that can be used as blackmail material—the works. 

_“Wait!_ You don’t have permission to—”

Yu is behind Park before the man realizes it, one arm around his neck in a headlock as he chuckles lowly. 

“Park, Park… you knew what you were getting yourself into when you signed that document for your loan. Now shut up and let my men do their work. Let’s see what other options we have here so I can leave with my money.”

“No,” Park whispers, struggling but in vain as the sound of breaking glass and rummaging emanates from inside the house. “Please, don’t. _Don’t.”_

Laughing, Yu plants a wet kiss on Park’s cheek. “Hush. Those are just material things. The important thing here is, we’re not after your son. _Yet.”_

That last bit seems to have done the trick, because suddenly Park is deflating in Yu’s grasp. He goes limp, as if something in him has died, before he whispers: 

“Ok. I have something. It’s not money but it should be worth something.”

“Aww see?” Yu practically pushes Park away as he releases him. “I knew you had something, Park. Now let’s see it.”

With a whistle, the ruckus from within the residence stops at Yu’s bidding, and his men step out. One of them, he notices, is carrying something. He doesn’t ask about it yet, more interested in what Park claims is _worth something._ Yu wonders what it is. 

They go to the garage and straight to a door off to the side. It appears to be some kind of storage room. Park unlocks it and then fumbles around for a switch—it takes a while, but when the light is turned on, it reveals the contents of the room. Park takes one of the items and presents it to Yu. 

“My son made this. You can sell it. It’s one of a kind! It’s—”

Before he can stop himself, Yu starts laughing. He throws his head back and howls with laughter, holding onto a ceramic kettle with _sumukhwa_ (1) art on it. It’s one of a kind for sure, but worth something? _Ha!_

“You’re joking,” he tells Park who just stands by the storage room doorway, looking lost. “You’re joking, right Park? You’re not really paying me with ceramics, are you?”

Park has his head bent, his gaze fixed on the floor. “You won’t find anything like it anywhere. It’ll fetch for a good price—”

_“YOU’RE FUCKING WITH ME!”_

Something in Yu snaps as he turns around and throws the kettle across the room. It hits the ground with a smash, pieces of ceramic scattering across the ground in odd shapes and sizes. But he doesn’t watch where all of the pieces go. Instead, Yu turns back to Park and grabs him by the neck, hand itching to crush his windpipe. 

“I will kill your son and you’re still going to give me my money back Park,” Yu hisses, his spit flying. “How does that sound?”

“Not my son, please,” Park pleads, eyes glazing over with tears as he coughs and chokes. “Please, I’ll do anything. Don’t hurt my son. Not my son!”

“Sir? You may want to see this.”

Yu wants to snap at being interrupted, but then the item his subordinate had been holding onto earlier is handed over to him. He takes it with a huff, realizing it’s a picture frame. Who the hell still uses picture frames? Anyway… Yu turns the frame around and freezes. 

_Oh._

“What’s your son’s name?”

Park isn’t bawling, but tears are already rolling down his cheeks. 

“Sunghoon. Park Sunghoon.”

Slowly, Yu feels a feral smile form on his face. 

“He’s pretty. I want him.” Releasing Park, Yu turns toward the exit, picture frame still in hand, and signals at his men. “I want you to collect Park Sunghoon tomorrow evening. We’ll present him to the Kims and see where he’ll be assigned. A face like that can be worth a lot.”

Park is immediately on his knees, wrapping his arms around Yu’s knees as he outright starts begging and sobbing. 

“Please! Not my son, _no!_ I’ll do anything! _Anything!”_

Yu sighs and tries to shake Park off, but his hold is tight. That and he’s getting tears and snot on one of Yu’s best pants. "I’m going to give you up to the count of three to let me go, Park. And then it’s over.”

_“No, no, please—”_

“One.”

_“I’ll have the money in an hour, just please—”_

“Two.”

_“Let me make a call! I’ll have the money in thirty minutes! Please—”_

“Three.”

Yu and his men move at the same time, but it’s an accident. The counting down had been for Yu himself, but his subordinates must have misunderstood because they pull Park off him just as he manages to kick the man off. As a result, Park goes flying backwards. But instead of falling on his back, something’s blocking the way: what looks like a big oven. 

_A kiln._

He slams his head on the side of it hard enough to put a dent on it. And when he hits the floor, Park doesn’t move. He doesn’t even breathe. He’s just still, almost like he’s sleeping. Yu freezes in place, and so does his men. But eventually—

“Not a loss,” Yu tells no one in particular, still clutching the picture frame with one hand like a prized possession. “We still have his son.”

With that being said, he and his men leave the Park residence without so much as a backward glance, already making changes on Yu’s records. Park Shiwoo’s name gets crossed out, but in its place, he writes another name. 

_Park Sunghoon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(1) **Sumukhwa. 수묵화.** Ink wash painting. A type of East Asian brush painting that uses black ink in different concentrations. The black ink used is the same ink utilized for East Asian calligraphy._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you so much for your patience! I have no explanation except Real Life happened. Anyway, this is a bit of a morbid chapter and the rating has been updated from Mature to Explicit accordingly. Please enjoy.**

**_Still the night before Park Shiwoo’s death…_ **  
Kim Sunoo has always liked beautiful things. 

It’s his mother’s fault. Growing up in a home devoid of male influences and his tastes are less practical and more extravagant. Value and worth are defined by the physical: the more pleasing to the eyes something is, the better. That being said, it’s no surprise that he owns only the most expensive and precious things, _but_ with the condition that they’re unique. If they’re not one of a kind, Sunoo just isn’t interested. 

“You said I was the only one with this kimono.”

Standing in the middle of his vast walk-in closet, Sunoo’s wearing nothing else but a pair of tight-fitting denim pants with a customized Japanese kimono hanging loosely, untied, around his shoulders. It’s an elegant moss green outlined with ornate gold and embroidered with a couple of cranes in the forefront of sweeping pines and creeping blooms. Truth be told, it’s the most beautiful kimono Sunoo has ever seen, though there’s a catch. The designer had initially told him this design was singular. 

That had been a lie. 

Sunoo hates having something anyone else has. If he’s going to have a pretty kimono, it has to be his and his alone. He’d made that clear from the get go, hadn’t he? But this struggling designer—how dare she—had tricked him into believing that no one else owned a similar piece of clothing in the world. 

“I… I just...” The middle-aged woman can’t even form the words she needs, kneeling before Sunoo with her face pale and expression frightened. He doesn’t waver as he glares down at her, waiting for an explanation. “I forgot! I’ve made so many of them that I didn’t realize I had an earlier version of the same design!”

Sunoo laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Stepping forward, he slaps the designer across the face hard. She flies sideways, crying out in surprise and pain, but Sunoo’s men catch her just in time before she hits the carpet, making sure she stays on her knees. 

“You useless old hag,” Sunoo bites out, grabbing her by the hair and forcing her to look up at him. She’s already crying and the sight of her fearful face makes Sunoo smile. She deserves it and everything else that’s about to come. “You’re lying. I hate liars.”

_“Please—”_

Sunoo lets her go but only to slap her again, turning around right after and taking off his kimono at the same time. It flutters to the ground behind him, millions of won useless to him now that Sunoo’s found out some European heiress has a piece that looks eerily like it, and made by the same person to boot. 

“Now what should we do about liars like you?”

Sunoo sorts through his prized collection of kimonos for an alternative, each piece a varying design and modified to stop just on top of his knees, carefully handcrafted with his personal style in mind. It’s all masculine with feminine touches because he believes pretty things can be manly too. And if anyone can make masculine _and_ feminine work, it’s Kim Sunoo. He just has that vibe. 

Eventually, he selects a black one with glittering seashells woven into the fabric, a multitude of golden phoenixes in flight across a silken midnight landscape. _Perfect._ He’d been saving this for a more special occasion, but gold feels right tonight and he unfortunately has only one kimono with gold threading left. He needs to buy more. 

“I can make you another one,” the designer begs, sobbing grossly with tears and snot dripping down her chin. Sunoo doesn’t even remember her name, regrets taking a risk by asking a rising nobody to create a masterpiece. He’d honestly thought she had potential though. How wrong he’d been! _“Please,_ I’m sorry. I’ll make as many as you like!”

“Burn her shops down,” Sunoo snaps at no one in particular as he selects a contrasting obi to go with his choice, and the designer wails in response. He ignores her. “I want our supplier of fabrics to stop selling her anything too. Redirect them to the next designer on my list.” 

_“Please—!”_

“Yes Master Kim, right away.”

Sunoo waves a hand, walking over towards one of the walls that acts as a mirror right after to stare at the blackness of the silk against his pale, white skin. He issues another order then, having had enough of the noise. 

“Send her away, I have a party to attend and I don’t need all this stress!”

Going back to his vanity and seating himself in front of it, Sunoo makes quick work of styling his hair with some wax just as a secretary enters the closet with a polite knock, carrying the cordless phone. 

“Master Kim, Kei-ssi just called. Master Park is on his way to the party.”

“Great! I want the chauffeur ready in ten!”

“Of course Master Kim,” his secretary says as she bows and then walks backwards, out of the room. 

Sunoo can’t help a smile from growing on his face, glad that he’d chosen to wear something nice tonight. Almost immediately forgetting about his kimono mishap, he allows himself to become excited instead. It’s been a busy month and he hasn’t had the chance to talk to or see his favorite hyung in the world. Grabbing his phone from the vanity before him, he sends a quick message to Jay. 

**_Sunoo_ **   
_Can’t wait to see you hyung!_   
_Miss you xoxo_

The reply doesn’t come until later while Sunoo’s on the way to the party venue. 

**_Jay-hyung_ **   
_I’ve been so stressed_   
_So glad I’ll be seeing you_

Sunoo takes a moment to squeal and dance around on his seat. 

**_Sunoo_ **   
_Don’t worry hyung_   
_I’ll be your stress reliever!_

**_Jay-hyung_ **   
_I know_   
_Can’t wait_

With a grin, Sunoo leans back on his seat after pouring himself a glass of champagne, a full bottle always stocked in his personal limousine, careful not to spill anything on his precious kimono. Taking a generous sip with a smile, he knows it’s going to be another fun night for sure. 

Sunoo can’t wait to get the evening started. 

  
  
  


Jungwon has just reached the bottom of the grand staircase at home, ready for the day’s night out, when the front door bursts open to admit his father. The old man is still dressed for work, but based on the company he’s brought home, it’s obvious that work is the last thing on his mind. He has two young women on his either side, girls in their early twenties or thereabouts, their skinny bodies wrapped in clothes that barely leave anything to the imagination. Most notable though, are their faces—pretty in the way plastic is, manufactured and fake, features a copy of one another’s except for the slightest modifications. 

“Abeoji,” Jungwon greets his father politely, though his voice is cold and expression even more so. He doesn’t acknowledge the women at all, treats them as if they’re not there. They mean nothing to him and he won’t waste his time. “You’re home. Please be careful while I’m out. We don’t know if the media followed you.”

His father is obviously drunk, cheeks rosy and eyes a little spaced out, but his voice is clear when he replies, tone highly amused. 

“I’m not the one who nearly got involved in the middle of a drug raid last month along with his friends,” his old man throws back, smirking. “But if it makes my only son feel better, of course I’ll be careful. Don’t worry.”

Jungwon rolls his eyes, walking past his father with a huff, though it no longer has the iciness of earlier as it shifts to a little more lighthearted instead. 

“Keyword _nearly._ Nice try though, Mr. Commissioner General.”

At once, Yang Junghwan’s demeanor changes too as he throws his head back in a raucous laugh, and the women on his either arm laugh with him even though they obviously don’t know what he’s talking about. 

“But that was fun, wasn’t it? That, and now you know better. No matter how old you get, you’re still going to need me! Probably not when I’m dead, but right now? I’m the only one who can get you out of any mess.”

Jungwon sighs with another eyeroll, turning to the mirrored wall off to the side of the front door, to inspect his outfit. As part of a prominent family, having been involved in the previous month’s drug raid by the Korean National Police would’ve been a disaster—but _not_ if your father is the Commissioner General of the Korean National Police Agency. Not that targeting the drug den Jungwon and his friends had coincidentally been in wasn’t intentional; his father had a hand in that raid (with a little help from Jay’s halmeonim) just because he and Jungwon had a little fight. Through the events that happened next, he’s proved a point: just like he said, Jungwon needs Yang Junghwan and the power he holds to keep up with the type of lifestyle he lives. 

“You win that one abeoji,” he admits with a hint of bitterness, making his father laugh again. “But it won’t happen again.”

“Or will it?” The challenge in his father’s tone is clear, but he’s playing around. Drunk as he is and with women to entertain him for the evening, he’s in a good mood. “Anyway, enjoy your evening and bring your bodyguards with you! Ladies, shall we?”

Jungwon doesn’t even reply, just waits as the family butler, who had been standing by the double doors the entire time and ignored by father and son unless they have a need for him, opens the front door with a bow. A convoy waits by the driveway: he gets such privilege as the son of a high ranking official involved in crime work. 

Settling on his seat as he finally gets in the car, he takes his phone out of his pocket and sends a message. 

**_Jungwon_ **   
_On my way_   
_See you hyung_

**_Jay-hyung_ **   
_All right!_   
_See you_

Tossing his phone on the space beside him after receiving a quick reply, Jungwon allows himself to close his eyes. Tired of the day’s masquerade, he lets himself relax, letting the mask he’s been wearing all day slip off. He doesn’t need to wear it around his friends, doesn’t need to be anyone else but himself around them, and for that he’s thankful. 

“Let’s go,” he says then without looking up, and Jungwon’s personal convoy begins to move, pulling out of the Yang Mansion’s driveway in bulletproof procession.

* * *

The Diamond Casino in Gangnam-gu, just like the _Eden_ nightclub, isn’t what it is on the surface. It _is_ a casino sure but, far from simply offering the usual gambling experience, it also hides something else underneath—and quite literally too. 

Once the valet takes the car keys from Kei, Jay walks ahead of him, entering a set of automatic glass doors that welcome him into a noisy, brightly lit room. When they see him, the staff bows in his presence accordingly but he ignores them, though that’s not intentional. He’s used to being treated like so from childhood that it’s not unusual, simply part of what his life is. Wherever Park Jay goes, everyone bows his way without need of him to acknowledge them.

No exceptions. 

“Master Park,” the female receptionist greets him pleasantly as he passes her on the way to a door labeled _Restricted Area: Employees Only._ This time, Jay gives the barest hint of a smile her way as he and Kei pass through the door and into a small hallway devoid of anything else but a couple of elevators. Kei presses the _down_ button on one of them while Jay busies himself with replying first to Sunoo, and then to Jungwon a few seconds later. They’ll both be here in a bit, which is good—Jungwon has ensured he’s had no more arguments with his dad so they don’t have the KNP ruining their plans just because of a petty fight between father and son—and when he finally reaches Basement 2, Jay has a huge smile on his face. 

It grows even wider at the roaring energy the crowd is making in a wide and secret high-ceilinged room: this is where the other, more illegal gambling practices take place in the Diamond Casino.

_“FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!”_

“It’s starting!” 

Jay can hardly keep the excitement from his voice, barely audible in the din, as he turns to Kei to state the obvious. Kei only nods, busy as he is with keeping Jay untouched by the crowd—a difficult task considering how many people are present, cheering and drinking and acting like savages, unbecoming of their stations in life outside this place. Kei makes quick work of shoving and pushing people away from Jay’s path so they can get closer to the middle of the room where a sizable crowd is surrounding a huge cage. 

Inside it are two men, shirtless and bloody, pummelling each other to the death with their bare hands. 

“Would you like me to place a bet for you now, hyungnim?”

Jay is riveted, eyes bright and focused on the ensuing match to see who has the advantage. A glaring X has been spraypainted on each fighter’s bare back—one red and the other blue—with the former appearing like he’s winning. However, he also looks tired, too aggressive in his offense so that Jay suspects he’s going to wear himself out sooner or later. 

“Blue,” Jay shouts amidst the din. “I have a good feeling about Blue! Five million won!”

“Yes hyungnim.”

Kei calls the attention of the nearest bookie with a whistle and makes specific hand signals that wordlessly convey Jay’s bet. It doesn’t take long for it to be acknowledged, and Kei turns back to him with a bow once it’s done. 

“It’s been placed. Please let me request a chair for you now.”

Typically, a VIP like Jay gets his own space in the throng with an over the top cushioned chair to boot, provided a clear view of the fight just because he’s known to spend a lot of money in the casino—not to mention he knows the owner’s son, the reason he’s here for a party in the first place. Tonight though, he prefers to be part of all the skin-to-skin ruckus: people screaming their chosen competitor’s color alongside each other and egging the fighters on. The crowd’s energy is too amazing not to feed off of, and so with a wave of a hand, Jay stays put. 

“It’s fine, not today! Let’s stay here with everyone else! Who d’you wanna bet on, Kei?”

Kei looks surprised for a split second, but he’s quick to school his features back to its professional, emotional mask as he regards the ongoing fight. After about a minute, he turns back to Jay. 

“Red, hyungnim.”

Jay laughs. “Oh, so you’re betting against me? Make that official, I’m feeling generous! Five million won! If you win, you get the five million back plus another five!”

In the end, Blue becomes too cocky by celebrating too early and is taken out by Red with a well-placed left hook to the jaw, and Kei gets to take home ten million won. 

“Oh man,” Jay groans though he’s laughing too, already on his phone to ask his personal assistant to transfer money to Kei’s account asap. If Jay is anything, he’s a man of his word. “This isn’t a great start for me tonight!”

Kei looks a little uncomfortable as they remain where they are, the crowd dispersing with the cage fight done for the meantime, folding his hands in front of him and bowing his head. 

“Hyungnim, you don’t have to—”

Jay looks up sharply, amusement gone, and cuts his all-around man before he completes his sentence. 

“Are you saying no to what we agreed on, Kei? That’s not nice, you know.”

At that, Kei bows even lower. 

“Of course not, hyungnim. Thank you for the ten million.”

Satisfied that he’s getting his way as usual, Jay grins. 

“You’re welcome. Now let’s have some fun!”

_“Jay-hyung!”_

“Oof!”

Just then, a blur of black and gold collides with Jay, startling even Kei who makes a grab for his gun—but it’s just Kim Sunoo, all rainbows and smiles as he squeezes Jay in a tight embrace, jumping up and down like an over excited kindergartener.

“Hyung, _I missed you!”_

With his arms trapped against his sides, Jay tries to emanate annoyance as best he can. It’s impossible though, not with the look on Kei’s face as he pulls his hand out of his coat jacket where his gun is holstered. It’s always hilarious how Sunoo’s antics can force a reaction out of even the most stoic of people, and for that alone, Jay’s going to let this cutesy pass. 

After all, he’d missed Sunoo too. 

“Yeah, yeah I miss you back— _now let me go,_ this kind of thing will ruin my reputation!”

Sunoo pulls away, still grinning, though he keeps an arm hooked around Jay’s. 

“It’s ‘I miss you _too’_ hyung; it sounds better!”

Jay rolls his eyes, trying to hide his smile. “Can’t you just be happy I missed you in return?”

Sunoo pouts, but his eyes have that sparkle to them that show he’s just being a brat. 

“You have to say it properly, Jay-hyung,” he singsongs, to which someone else answers instead, cool and amused and just a tad bit mocking. 

“Don’t force people to say what they don’t mean, Sunoo-hyung.”

Both he and Sunoo turn to the source of the voice, the latter’s expression changing to something ugly and irked in an instant as Yang Jungwon approaches them, his soft and dimpled smile a complete contrast to how sharp his gaze can be. 

“Yang Jungwon,” Sunoo says then, tightening his hold on Jay with a huff. “Can’t believe you’re here, and on a _school night._ What a shocker.”

Jungwon’s smile twists into something condescending. “I can balance work and play just fine hyung, unlike others I know.”

Jay raises a hand to calm things down as soon as Sunoo snarls in outrage—the remark had been for him, being the one most terrible in schoolwork if he doesn’t focus—and puts himself between the two. Jay has never met any pair who hangs out just to annoy one another, Sunoo and Jungwon not having outgrown their cat and mouse game from kindergarten.

Sometimes, he wonders if they’re really friends at all. 

“Yah, we’re here to party and have fun. Enough of this,” he says, placating and with a pointed look Jungwon’s way. Jungwon replies with a long suffering sigh. “Let’s see what else we can enjoy before heading to the party, yeah? Kei, what activities do we have available today?”

Thankfully, Sunoo calms down, hooking his arm around Jay’s again with another huff. The distraction works, and they focus on Kei who checks his watch before turning slightly to another portion of the room, waving his hand in the direction of one of the smaller side rooms where other games are being held. 

“Russian roulette will start in ten minutes, hyungnim. If you would like to place a bet, it has to be done before the game starts. Otherwise, we can simply watch.”

Sunoo brightens almost immediately. “Ooooh, Russian roulette! That’s always fun!”

“I won’t be placing any bets, but I’d love to watch,” Jungwon says meanwhile, his expression sharpened by a smirk. He looks a little different from the smiling boy who had approached them, a little scarier like he’d just taken a mask off and he’s a different person. “Lead the way.”

As one and with Kei guiding them, they make their way to the Russian roulette game, Jay and Jungwon’s gaze meeting one another’s briefly. The former winks, mouths _glad you could make it,_ and the latter smiles _and_ blushes. It’s cute, but what can Jay say—he has adorable friends. 

Sunoo notices the special attention and makes sure to steal it back with a whine, babbling about how he and Jay should bet on the number that appeared on his horoscope for the day blah blah blah. It’s very Sunoo to talk a lot and Jay lets him, humors him, because he has no other friends aside from these two and, even though they probably have no idea, he’s willing to do anything for either of them just to make them happy. After all, they’re the only ones who completely understand the world that he lives in and the things that happen in it, being part of it themselves. They’re a little down below the Wolgyesu Pa hierarchy, sure, but they get it and that’s enough. 

“Yes, we’ll do what you want Sunoo-yah,” Jay assures him with a grin, Jungwon on his other side, and the night can’t be better than this. “Come along, Jungwonie!”

They reach the side room for Russian roulette in no time, already half filled with spectators. It’s a bland, all-cement room as opposed to the cozier, fancier ones elsewhere in Basement 2, but for a good reason: it gets bloodied up anyway, might as well make it easy to clean with strategically placed drains on the floor. As for the seats, they’re arranged like stairwells all about the room except for the door, similar to bleachers, and there’s a wide space in the middle where thirteen blindfolded participants, all wearing white prison-like outfits, are in. 

“Oh, is it starting?” Sunoo asks, pouting again. “I really wanted to make a bet!”

Kei is quick to check with a bow and an _excuse me,_ approaching the bookie assigned to the game and conversing with him. He returns to Jay and his friends right way and with good news: betting is still open. Jay bets twenty million won while Sunoo bets ten in favor of number 6, Kei talking to the bookie again, this time with hand signals as the three find the best seats to witness the game. 

It starts almost immediately after their bets are placed. 

_“Welcome to Russian roulette!”_

The bookie could probably make a living as some kind of ring announcer, speaking to both the participants—who either look scared of confused as their blindfolds are removed—and the spectators using a cordless microphone as if this is some kind of joyful event and not what it really is: a massacre. Sunoo cheers along with the rest of the crowd, and so does Jay; cross legged and posture perfect meanwhile, Jungwon simply applauds. 

_“The rules are simple, participants: each one of you gets a revolver with one bullet randomly placed in its cylinder. You will be arranged in a circle, by number, and will be told to face either the person to your left, or the person to your right, at which point you will point your gun at the back of that person’s head. When you hear this,”_ a blaring buzzer sound rings across the room and makes some of the participants jump, _“You shoot! We have a total of five rounds, that is, if more than two of you are still standing. Otherwise, we’ll have a one on one! The participant who lives will get their requested monetary prize! Exciting, isn’t it?”_

A murmur of laughter and hoots run through the crowd as several participants begin to cry; number 7 even tries to get away, but she doesn’t get far: the bouncers are upon her in a heartbeat, dragging her back to the middle of the room and on her place in the circle with a punch to her stomach. The spectators _oooooh_ at that, Sunoo getting to his feet and exclaiming:

“That’s right, back to your place, bitch!”

Jay laughs, a little embarrassed, as he pulls at Sunoo’s arm so he can sit back down. Jungwon just shoots him a distasteful look, possibly the only person in the room who has any manners at all, well-behaved as though they’re all watching the opera. 

“Sit the fuck down,” Jay hisses, laughing, and Sunoo does but with a frown.

“She can’t just run away, hyung! She signed up for this!”

Jay waves a hand in the air, a calming gesture, as his other one rubs soothing circles on a fuming Sunoo’s back. He so easily gets riled up about different things. 

“Yes, yes she did. But you know how it is—they get scared. Round one now, sssh.”

_“Round one! To your left, participants!”_

Trembling and crying and hyperventilating, the participants do as they’re told: they turn left, Jay and Sunoo’s bet pointing his gun at the back of number seven’s head. Sunoo jumps up on his seat with another shout, fired up just like the rest of the spectators as everyone waits in anticipation for the buzzer to sound, wooting and making a ruckus and amping up the already tense air in the room. 

“Yeah number 6! Blow number 7’s brains out!”

**_BUZZ!_ **

The air fills with the sound of revolvers going off and the excited screaming of the crowd: almost at the same time, numbers 3, 5, and 12 fall to the ground with smoking holes on their heads, the unlucky ones during the first round. The participants begin to wail, number 13 throws up, but it’s not yet over. The clean up crew drags the bodies of the deceased away before they make even more of a mess, blood stark on the concrete floor and already crawling its way toward the drains. The bookie whoops, and the bouncers usher the remaining participants to reform the circle. 

_“Wow, just three on the first round! What about on the second? Let’s add another bullet!”_

“YES!” 

The spectators grow even louder, most of them already on their feet, and even Jay can’t hold back any longer, not when the rusty smell of blood is filling his lungs like this, firing him up and making him feel alive. 

_“BULLET, BULLET, BULLET!”_

The bouncers add a second bullet to the revolver cylinders of the surviving participants, and as soon as that’s done, they’re once again asked to get into position. 

_“Round two! Again, to your left participants! Get ready!”_

The sobbing of number 9 is so loud, his entire body shaking, revolver nearly slipping from what had to be a sweaty palm multiple times. The crowd jeers at him, a random person going as far as to shout: “Be a fucking man you piece of shit!” 

**_BUZZ!_ **

Sunoo looks absolutely overjoyed as number 7, along with 1, 4, and 9, fall to the floor. 

“Bye number 7!” 

Sunoo laughs, head thrown back, and even Jay is laughing too, turning to Jungwon who’s smiling at the turn of events. Their number 6 is still alive and kicking after all. _Good._

The bookie tries his best to speak over all the noise. 

_“SIX PARTICIPANTS LEFT! Let’s add another bullet! Round three, participants: to your right!”_

“Shoot that gun! Shoot that gun! SHOOT THAT GUN!”

**_BUZZ!_ **

“Hyung! _Hyung, yes!”_

Jay meets Sunoo’s wild embrace halfway, the two of them jumping up and down as the third round comes to a close. And the results shouldn’t be possible, but here they are: Number 11 manages to pull the trigger on 8 before he gets killed by 13, with 2 killing herself and leaving just two participants in the game. 

_“Number 6 and number 10! It’s time to man up and do this face to face: add another bullet!”_

Jungwon is no longer pretending to be as cultured as he is, now part of the crowd and cheering as dead bodies are cleared to give space for 6 and 10. They stand about two feet away from each other, both a sniveling mess, revolvers now up to four bullets each. Their expressions are downright begging each other: _don’t do this._ But then, they have no choice. 

Jay is living for that. 

_“All right remaining participants: lift your weapons!”_

They point their revolvers at each other, their aim shot to hell with how much both of them are shaking, and it feels like forever before the buzzer finally sounds as the revolvers fire one last time. 

**_BUZZ!_ **

The crowd loses it as the bookie needlessly announces the winner. 

_“NUMBER 6 WINS!”_

With the heady scent of fresh blood and the heavy, excited static in the air, Jay closes his eyes and allows a sense of euphoria to wash over him while he, Sunoo, and Jungwon group hug to celebrate their victory.

The total Russian roulette pot money collected from all the other losing numbers, minus the casino’s earnings from it, ends up being split by only three people: Jay, Sunoo, and one other person get twenty three million won each. 

“Oh my,” Sunoo gushes as they leave the side room they’re in, hands smoothing out non existent creases on his kimono. “I need a calmer game after all that. That was intense!”

“It was a great game though,” Jungwon says, in a good mood so that he and Sunoo aren’t bickering for once. “Anyway, we should do cards. How about poker?”

Jay is still reeling, a little spaced out at the sight of all that red and its accompanying scent, but he nods absently. He’s ready to do anything right now—he’s had his fill, and all that blood has just ensured he’s going to have good dreams for weeks. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you guys want.”

“We should up the bets! No money,” Sunoo suggests, smiling in a way that crinkles his nose. It makes him look cuter than ever. “Something a little different this time!”

Jungwon gives it a thought, and then grins slyly at what he comes up with. 

“If I win, I want both of you to attend school with me for a month.”

“Eww,” Sunoo says immediately, but he’s still smiling. “Fine! If I win, I want both of you to get matching kimonos with me—my choice of style and design!”

“Oh come on,” Jungwon complains. “That’s terrible!”

“But it’s fair! How about you, Jay-hyung?”

And Jay doesn’t even think about it at all, just says something at random because he doesn’t think he’ll win. He’s bad at card games, even UNO, so he answers with a shrug, maybe even half-jokingly. 

“I want a human pet.”

“I have that covered _if_ you win,” Sunoo says, and he’s right. After all, his family manages the human trafficking and exploitation business of Wolgyesu Pa. If anyone has access to humans, it’s the Kims. “But I don’t see how Jungwonie will help with that.”

Jay grins. “You supply the pet options. He chooses for me.”

“Ok,” Jungwon agrees, unbothered, just another normal conversation. “Can we play poker now? I’d love to see you guys back on campus.”

Sunoo cackles. “Or in kimonos!”

Jay turns to Kei, the one who knows where every activity is situated. They’ll need a private table and a quieter atmosphere. 

“This way please.”

...and roughly an hour and a half later, Jay ends up winning four out of five rounds, guaranteed a human pet he doesn’t really know what to do with.

But he’s sure he can think of something. 

* * *

**The next day…**   
_Sunghoon remembers very little, and what he does recall feels like mere snapshots of entire scenes that he has no memory of._

There had been an out of place van in the alleyway that led to home, but Sunghoon hadn’t paid it any mind— _he should have._ If he had, then he would’ve fought against the grabby hands and the cloth over his face, the latter doused with some kind of chemical that made it difficult to stay awake as soon as Sunghoon inhaled its fumes. 

_From there, pockets of movement and meaningless conversation._

“I personally want this one, this one, and that girl over there. Everyone else, bring them to Mama-san to determine the job they’ll be assigned and where. _Now.”_

“Right away, Master Kim.”

_Sharp eyes and a dimpled smirk._

“They’re all pretty except this one, Sunoo-hyung.”

_Gentle fingers on his cheek, soothing, and then pain as it becomes a palm that slaps him across the face. Sunghoon knows he should’ve winced, but he feels lightheaded, as if he’s floating._

“Yeah… he’s beautiful. Look at that face. Nice to look at. Worth lots of money too. _You wouldn’t, Jungwonie!”_

“Why not? You provide and I choose, remember? It’s my call. Who cares about the business.”

 _Someone tucks fringes of hair behind his ear as Sunghoon tries to open his eyes again. When had he closed them?_ _Eyelids fluttering open, the world is a blur: but there are touching hands and crooning voices, and Sunghoon feels so, so good as the conversation goes on a stand still, nothing left but these deep and heavy breaths._

_Are those breaths coming from him?_

“Oh come on! Will it be him or not? Just say it so we can get this over and done with, and I can get him dressed appropriately.”

_A laugh, almost sweet but also not. There’s a hint of danger in the sound, hiding in the lilting notes._

“Yes, him. Hyung’s gonna love him.”

 _The darkness pulls him just barely under so that he absently feels it when someone undresses him, but he doesn’t have the strength to panic. His limbs are too heavy for that, like he’s wrapped in syrup. That and_ _the new clothes they dress him up with are soft._ So soft _against his skin as he gets moved, carried, dragged. And then he feels velvet—_

“Holy shit, is this it? My pet?”

“Yeah! Do you like him hyung?”

 _Pet. Sunghoon blinks his eyes open to a four-poster bed with fancy drapes, drowsy like he has never been his entire life. He flinches a little at the tentative hand that cradles his face, the wary finger that traces his jaw. Slowly, Sunghoon_ _turns his head and is met with soft eyes and a gentle smile._

“Hello, beautiful. You’re mine now. You’re safe, baby.”

_Sunghoon opens his mouth but can’t speak, not when he’s so sleepy, but that’s all right. Later on and when he wakes, there’s going to be a lot that’ll need saying._

_He falls back asleep._

Jay wraps a leather collar around the long and slender neck of his new pet, admiring the words engraved on its metal plate. 

**Property of Wolgyesu Pa**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I thought about it a lot, but ultimately, I decided not to include the details of the card game. After how fast-paced the Russian roulette game was (inspired by the movie[13](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/13_\(2010_film\))), it felt a bit boring to close things off with a non-exciting poker game. Idk, that's what I think at least.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you for your patience! This chapter deals with glaring dubious consent, so please be warned. It's nothing too explicit, but if it's not your thing, skip the first part with the italics. That said, enjoy this update and as always, thank you so much for being here!**

_Sunghoon_ thinks _he dreams._

_The sensations are too much to be real, unwanted and overwhelming on his touch-starved but, at the same time, sensitive skin. He finds, in his gut, that he craves the sweeping motions of rough hands and tickling fingers while still wanting it to stop: body and mind in contradiction, undecided between strange pleasure and comfortless near-pain._

_But there’s nothing he can do. His limbs refuse to cooperate, almost as if they’re no longer his own. And though he tries to make a sound, tries to communicate his contrasting desires, what he doesn’t know is that all he manages are small groans and moans of discontent._

“The _Bratva(1)_ will be here in half an hour, hyungnim.” 

“Good. Can you make sure everything’s in order? Triple check security. I don’t trust these Russians.”

“Of course hyungnim, right away. Please excuse me.”

_It’s the best/worst on his hair and scalp, the way a set of fingernails scratch and glide in gentle fashion to lull him deeper in his half-conscious state. He pushes and pulls away from it, unsure; Sunghoon wants and refuses, unable to choose, stuck feeling what he feels and not able to participate at all._

“I learned a Russian lullaby(2) today, pet.” 

_There’s a breath of warm air against his ear where those words had been whispered, and as if having had too much, Sunghoon’s entire body jerks._ Too close— _something plump and wet connects with the small stretch of skin at the back of his ear, a sweet kiss, turning into a nuzzle of misplaced affection._

“It’s creepy, but it’s the best lullaby for bad little pets who won’t do what their masters say. It goes something like this.”

_And then the voice whisper-sings a song that feels like a nightmare._

_Tili tili bom_   
_Close your eyes now_   
_Someone's walking outside the house_   
_And knocks on the door_

_Tili tili bom_   
_The nightbirds are chirping_   
_He is inside the house_   
_To visit those who can't sleep_

_He walks_   
_He is coming_   
_Closer_

_Tili tili bom_   
_Can you hear him closing in?_   
_Lurking around the corner_   
_Staring right at you_

_Tili tili bom_   
_The silent night hides everything_   
_He sneaks up behind you_   
_And he is going to get you_

_He walks_   
_He is coming_   
_Closer._

_Sunghoon catches his breath, an involuntary reaction, as cool hands caress down his waist to trace the shape of it. The touch is still gentle, finds its peak upon his abdomen where he ends up receiving a belly rub that’s almost sensual in nature. The nuzzling moves up to the side of his head, to his temple, someone’s body wrapping itself around his from behind as he gets turned to the side. He’s being held is what it is, but without his consent. Legs tangle with his, a knee uncomfortably pressed against his crotch, but things don’t escalate further._

“Sunghoon-ah,” _he hears whoever this person say after a lifetime, singsong and childish, in a manner that one would use on a beloved dog. Sunghoon shivers again, this time when those hands claw at the top of his thighs, down to his knees and back up, just a little rougher so that he feels nails dig in enough to leave glaring lines._ “My best boy Sunghoon-ah.”

“Hyung? Oh. I see we’re getting a little familiar with the house pet.”

“Sunoo-yah.” 

_Just like that, all the touch and warmth is gone. For the life of him, Sunghoon doesn’t know why, but he whines. He doesn’t mean it, it just happens: his mouth decides on its own, his body wanting more of whatever it’s being given. A chuckle rumbles his shoulder where he feels a weight settle, the sound of a kiss pressed against his collarbones._

“Aww, he misses me already. Anyway, are the whores ready for transport?” 

_It’s gone, and Sunghoon is sinking. All the thinking he’s done so far has exhausted him beyond belief, like he’s run for miles without stopping. He hears what’s being said, but it stops making sense, turns into noise._

“Sure are. Mama-san oversaw their training herself, so they’re the best. They’re good to go, hyung.”

“Perfect.”

_A door creaks open, creaks close. Sunghoon sort of sleeps, head trapped somewhere in limbo, but soon he falls, slipping into the abyss of a feverish, dreamless repose where he hears, over and over again, his eerie Russian lullaby._

  


  


  


When Sunghoon wakes up, it’s in a panicked rush. He’s sweating too, breathing a lungful of cologne-smelling air as he sits up and all of a sudden, in an unfamiliar bed. 

_“Fuck!_ You startled me— _don’t do that!”_

Sunghoon’s head whips sideways at the sound of that voice, the action making him go dizzy. He opens his mouth to speak, _say something,_ but his body betrays him. 

He throws up bile all over himself. 

“Oh no! Are you ok? Hold on.”

Whoever’s speaking is a blur as Sunghoon’s eyes tear up while he continues retching, stomach seemingly being pulled inside-out. Nothing else comes out though, but his intestines keep twisting inside him, and the only way to get some reprieve is to hunch in over himself. 

“Here Sunghoon-ah. Don’t worry—you’re all right. I’ll take care of you.”

The cool touch of a damp cloth on the side of his face startles Sunghoon so bad, he careens sideways and away. Blinking madly at the owner of the voice—blonde hair, a chiselled face—the only reason he’s not moving further away is because Sunghoon has managed to twist himself around the covers over him. 

“What the— _who are you? Where am I?”_

Heart beating double time in his chest, Sunghoon gives the room he’s in a frantic once over. It’s not a place he’s ever been to before, expensive and over the top, Victorian in theme down to the crystal chandelier that gives his surroundings an unnatural warm glow. 

“It’s ok. You’re safe, Sunghoon-ah—” 

The unknown person’s touch makes Sunghoon recoil, and he crawls backwards and away, only to fall off the edge of the bed and onto the carpeted floor, still trapped within a pile of blankets. Who was this blonde guy? And— _what in the world?_ Sunghoon gapes at himself, at the white tunic and tight fitting pants he’s wearing. 

_What the hell is this?_

“Is everything ok, hyungnim?”

A door opens just then, a much older guy with dark hair and an expressionless face peeking inside to first look at Sunghoon and then the other boy. Said boy doesn’t take his eyes away from Sunghoon though, simply lifts a hand to wave it nonchalantly. 

“He’s just startled, that’s all. Doesn’t know who his master is yet. We’re fine, Kei; give us some privacy.”

“Yes hyungnim.”

Sunghoon feels dizzy, but he takes note of that strange word, wonders what kind of sick joke this all is. _Master?_ The door closes, leaving him with this blonde guy who’s talking to him like he’s some kind of wild animal that he’s trapped on purpose. 

“My name’s Jay, Sunghoon-ah,” the boy says patiently, going around the side of the bed and carefully approaching him. By now, Sunghoon’s pulse is akin to a hummingbird’s frantic wings, and it takes so much effort to breath. “I’m your owner. This is my room, in my house. You’re safe here.”

A round of manic laughter leaves Sunghoon’s lips because _what the hell is this guy talking about?_

“Haha, very funny!” 

Sunghoon is desperate for all this to be a prank, and it is right? No one _owns_ him. That’s just unthinkable. Slavery in this day and age? What bullshit is that? This had to be Jake’s doing, maybe even his appa’s. But then this guy named Jay crouches down, still overly careful as if not to spook him, and gives him a serious look. 

“This is not a joke, Sunghoon-ah. Your father’s dead and has a huge debt he hasn’t settled with Wolgyesu Pa. As his son, your responsibility is to repay the money he owes us by way of giving us your service. You will be servicing me. Do you understand?” 

Sunghoon’s blood grows cold. 

_Your father’s dead._

“What?”

Sunghoon’s voice is hoarse as he stares at this Jay person from Wolgyesu Pa, the infamous crime syndicate renowned all throughout South Korea. _It can’t be true._ It can’t be possible. Just last night, his appa and Jake had surprised him with a kiln. _Wait_ —is it even still last night? 

“You’re lying,” Sunghoon finds himself saying, his tone lilted and close to breaking. All Jay does is stare back at him, concerned. _“You’re lying!”_

In his angry desperation, Sunghoon finds enough strength to stand up, stumbling as he kicks off the blankets holding him hostage. His head spins with the sudden movement, but he holds onto the edge of the bed to keep his balance, refusing to take his gaze away from his _master._ Jay looks startled, stands up and backs away a few steps, but Sunghoon doesn’t let him get far. 

He rushes forward and throws a punch across Jay’s face. 

_“You’re fucking lying!”_

“Please step away and put your hands behind you.”

Sunghoon doesn’t even hear the door open, doesn’t realize he and Jay are no longer alone. Breathing hard, his gaze switches from the blood on Jay’s lips to the barrel of a gun. _A gun._ Sunghoon freezes in place, all anger drained out of him at the sight of such a weapon. 

He’s never seen one up close, much less pointed at him, before. 

_“Now,_ Sunghoon-ssi.”

“Don’t scare him, Kei.”

Sunghoon wants to look at Jay but can’t take his eyes away from a gun that’s ready to shoot him anytime, his entire system on a standstill. Is it a true gun? Hasn’t this joke gone too far? _His appa can’t be dead…_

“What’s going on?” Sunghoon pleads, close to tears. 

_Is this really happening?_

“Hush,” Jay tells him in a placating voice, moving away after wiping his bloody lip with the back of his hand. He opens the drawer on the nightstand located away from Sunghoon, taking out a steel case. He opens it and grabs a syringe before turning back to him, smile eerie in the way it tries to be comforting. “It’s ok, Sunghoon-ah. This is all new, but you’ll get used to it. Kei, bring him here.”

Sunghoon wants to run, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to get shot. But, at the same time, he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of whatever is in that syringe either—though really, what choice does he have?

“Please be still,” the one called Kei tells Sunghoon as he grabs his wrists to keep them behind him while pushing him closer to where Jay is. “I don’t want to hurt you by accident, Sunghoon-ssi.”

“What’s in it,” Sunghoon asks, _begs,_ but Jay’s smile only grows wider. 

Kei lets go of one of his hands, but only to direct it toward a waiting syringe. 

“Temporary peace. I’ll be in touch soon, Sunghoon-ah, and then it's all going to make sense.”

The sharp pain of a needle piercing his skin is the last thing that Sunghoon registers before everything turns hazy. And then, _nothing._

Despite what he’s been told, Sunghoon finds no peace in this darkness at all. 

  


* * *

  


They find Sunghoon splayed on the ground right across his own house, by then missing for a little over forty eight hours, [ dressed strangely](https://www.pinterest.co.kr/pin/765963849117905312/), unconscious, and shivering in the cold night air.

“Wolgyesu Pa,” the elders whisper when they see the engraving on the metal portion of a foreboding collar wrapped around Sunghoon’s neck. A soft but urgent hush befalls the Park household as the men carry Sunghoon inside. “It’s the Wolgyesu Pa.”

Jake has heard that name before, but it doesn’t register, not when relief and worry are fighting one another inside him. He flutters about the concerned neighbors and friends of the Park family, the Shims included, to make sure Sunghoon is ok: Sunghoon who is deathly pale, paler than usual, with only his lips lifelike in contrast; pinkish red and full, the sole part of him that’s vibrant at the moment. 

“Look,” Jake’s mom says as soon as Sunghoon is laid on his bed, his arm lolling sidewards as the men pull back to give him space. She approaches and bends down, reaches out and brushes gentle fingers on the exposed crook of Sunghoon’s elbow. “Look at what they did!” 

Jake doesn’t get it at first, but upon closer inspection, he realizes what he’s looking at: needle marks. There are at least eight of them, stark against the eerie whiteness of his best friend’s flesh. 

“He was drugged, dear lord,” someone says. Jake doesn’t turn to face whoever it is, eyes fixed on the marks, a sense of dread clamoring in the pit of his stomach. “They drugged him. Killed his father and drugged him, poor boy—”

“We don’t know that,” someone hisses, voice low. “We don’t—”

Something collides with wood, but Jake doesn’t even jump in surprise. There’s something stuck in his throat while he makes his way closer to Sunghoon, seating himself on the edge of a familiar bed to take his best friend’s hand. 

_He’s too still,_ is all he can think of. _It’s not right._

“What other proof do you need?! Don’t you see what the collar says? They own him now.”

That makes Jake look up. 

“Own him?” His gaze travels from the grandma who’d spoken to his own mother. “What do you mean, _they own him?”_

Jake’s mom sighs as she shakes her head, the creases on her forehead stark with how worried she looks. 

“I’ll explain later, Jaeyoon-ah. Sunghoon’s burning up. Fetch me a bowl of cool water and a small towel. Hurry.”

His mom’s expression makes him nervous, but Jake does as he’s told, disappearing from the bedroom and into the kitchen without saying anything else. It’s a miracle he can still find anything around the house considering its state when they first arrived: ransacked is too mild a word, everything that could be broken on the floor and in pieces with no piece of furniture, in any of the rooms, left untouched. But worst of all had been finding Mr. Park’s lifeless body by the garage, part of his head caved in and morbidly bruised, a sight that Jake knows he won’t forget anytime soon. 

As for the great dent they found on Sunghoon’s new kiln? Would’ve been a clue as to what had possibly taken place—if only the neighbors hadn’t reported seeing three suspicious-looking men around the time of death come and go in a sedan. And yet, despite it all, the police had insisted that Mr. Park’s death was nothing more but a tragic accident. 

Obviously it’s not, and now everyone knows with a degree of certainty. 

“No wonder the cops won’t cooperate.” 

Jake can’t help but eavesdrop on a hushed conversation happening in the dining area, taking his time finding a suitable bowl even though there’s loads of them in one of the cabinets. They’re Sunghoon’s creations over the years, some well made while others obviously from when his best friend was starting out. A handful of them had been painted by Jake himself: bamboo landscapes and monochrome cherry blossoms, black cranes in mid flight and nameless, nonexistent bodies of water. 

“The Wolgyesu Pa’s involved. There’s no way they don’t have influence on the police.”

Jake has only ever encountered that mob name when watching or reading the news now that he really thinks about it. All he knows is that the Wolgyesu Pa is an elite crime organization in South Korea, on a whole other level than the infamous _kkangpae(3)_ , but his knowledge doesn’t extend further than that. Jake certainly has no idea they can _own_ people, and the thought that they have that power is both fascinating and scary as hell. 

“What I don’t understand is why they’ve claimed him. Is Sunghoon part of them now? Or does he have to work for them with no choice in the matter?”

“Whatever it is, poor boy… there’s nothing we can do for him now.”

Jake tightens his grip on his chosen bowl, off-white ceramic with a sleeping cat, a failed _sumukhwa_ attempt of Sunghoon’s to create what was supposedly a tiger. _Nothing we can do for him now…_ are the adults really saying they can’t help his best friend in any way? He has no idea what kind of trouble Sunghoon is in, but Jake can’t quite believe nobody, most of all the adults, will be of assistance. Surely—

“Jaeyoon-ah?”

His mom’s voice rings through the house, loud and questioning, and Jake straightens, sets to work by opening the fridge and pouring cold water on the bowl. He fills it halfway before adding tap water so the water isn’t too cool, calling back to his mother all the while. Absently, he notes how the conversation he’d been listening in on dies down, grows hushed.

“Sorry, I’ll be there in a sec!”

When Jake heads back to the bedroom, he’s formulated the beginnings of a slipshod plan. If the elders won’t help Sunghoon, then he has to. What are best friends for, right? First things first though, he needs more information.

Jake has to find out more about Wolgyesu Pa. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(1) **Bratva. братва.** Literally _brotherhood. _Refers to the Russian mafia._  
>    
>  _(2) **Tili Tili Bom. Тили Тили Бом.** A popular Russian lullaby known for being creepy. You can listen to it [here.](https://youtu.be/BDMmj5WgB8c)_  
>    
>  _(3) **Kkangpae. 깡패.** Literally translates to _thug. _Refers to members of unorganized street gangs, lesser as opposed to the_ geondal _(which is something Jay is) or organized crime elite._  
> 


End file.
